


the world's burning (she lit the first fire)

by essenceofbeing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essenceofbeing/pseuds/essenceofbeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this:<br/>http://iodineoxygenuraniumafall.tumblr.com/post/42690699153</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world's burning (she lit the first fire)

**Author's Note:**

> No characters are mine, and neither is the theory

Jefferson Hope sat in his cab, feeling the dull ache of his untreated cancer. His wife had left him yesterday, taking Lily and Trevor with her. It wasn't his fault; he could see the guilt in her eyes from sleeping with their next door neighbor. He wondered if she knew that cancer was creeping through his veins, if she would've stayed and watched him die.

 

On the curb, a ginger-haired woman with a deerstalker hat waved impatiently at him. He briefly considered passing her by and driving until the cab ran out of gas, but he stopped anyways.

 

"Where to, miss?" he asked, hating the beaten sound of his voice. There was a moment of silence, where the woman watched him intently through the mirror, and she said,

 

"How's your wife, Mr.Hope?" He froze. The door snicked shut, and he peered at her through the mirror. It frightened him, because he realized he couldn't see anything about her. Her face was blank, her clothes were clean, her identity blank to him.

 

"I see that picture, you know," she said conversationally. "She's ripped out, but you still feel sentiment for your children. She cheated on you, perhaps?" Her lips curved up slightly, and he looked closely at her eyes. And he felt a spark of recognition. In her eyes was pure intelligence, the world and all of its secrets reflected in her.

 

She was a proper genius, just like him.

 

"Who are you?" Jefferson asked, adrenaline running through his cancer-infected veins.

 

She watched him, cataloged the spark of excitement in his eyes, and smiled. "Kitty Riley, here to help."

\-----

Jefferson Hope found out Kitty's real name after his second victim, a teen named James Phillimore.

 

They were at an abandoned flat, where the CCTV cameras had a blind spot. Kitty passed him a new bottle, the two familiar pills clinking inside of it. Then she gave him the anti-toxin, which would make him immune to the pills. Both were poisonous, however, whichever one he took would be neutralized.

 

"Who are you?" he asked again, as she turned to leave. "You pay me to kill people-"

 

"They kill themselves," Kitty corrected. "That's what makes it interesting."

 

"Who are you?" Jefferson asked again, watching Kitty's silhouette against the remains of the walls.

 

She paused, her gloved hand on the door. "Moriarty," she said.

 

"I'm Moriarty."

\-----

Jennifer Wilson was smart, thinking that Jefferson didn't notice the case and phone she left in the cab. But no, he had instructions to mess up this time, to make sure that he was caught. So he turned the other way when she slid the case under her seat, checked the radio innocently when she put her phone in the pocket behind his seat. Kitty had wanted to be caught this time, because in her words, "London was getting boring."

 

He called the number back obediently when the pink phone rang, waiting for someone to pick up. (They wouldn't; in order for them to have gotten this far, they would've been smart enough not to.)

\-----

It was a close chase, but Jefferson was a bit disappointed. The man with silver eyes seemed smart enough, but he still didn't notice Jefferson.

 

"Have a nice vacation," the army man said, and they both walked away. His passenger watched them with bemused eyes, and Jefferson suddenly felt tired.

 

Was he really so unimportant? He was the best serial killer London had seen in decades, and he was passed by in favor of his Californian passenger. He sighed, and began to drive.

\-----

Jefferson Hope was not expecting the bullet. It burned, tore through shoulder and bone, and Sherlock loomed in a haze above him. His usually-clear mind was betraying him now, and everything was blurry and dark.

 

"A name!" Sherlock shouted, his heel pressing down on his shoulder. Jefferson suddenly felt like all the air had been taken away, like his lungs and torso were being ripped open from the inside.

 

"Moriarty!" Jefferson screamed, his last thoughts of a woman with the world in her eyes.


End file.
